


Edges

by HigheverRains



Series: Edges [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Lore-Friendly, canon-divergent, new adventure set in Thedas, new plotlines and locations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-19 08:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10636290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigheverRains/pseuds/HigheverRains
Summary: In the aftermath of the Blights, there is treasure to be found in the Deep Roads, and the expedition out of Kirkwall is not the only one seeking lost artifacts. But when a Carta smuggler crosses paths with an elven treasure-hunter, a minstrel with a few good stories, a foremost lyrium researcher, and a dishonored dwarven noble, some of those lost treasures might wind up unearthed, along with a good few mysteries.INDEPENDENT; LORE-FRIENDLY; CANON-DIVERGENTThere are no HOFs, Champions, or Inquisitors here ;)Chapters releases sporadically time and interest permitting.





	1. DUSTER 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Furan Brosca meets someone who can help her cut her Carta ties for good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: none
> 
> Comments always welcome! ~HR  
> For more about the Edges characters, check out my [Tumblr](http://higheverrains.tumblr.com).

“You’ve heard the rumors, same as I have.” Furan’s voice was rough around the edges. She quirked a smile, missing a tooth near the front from a fight with a bruiser some years back. The man before her, hand curled through the handle of a tankard of ale, was having none of it.

“Aye,” he said in a gruff little grumble. “I have heard the rumors. That don’t mean they’re true.” He reached up to scratch at his beard, and Furan sank down into a seat across from him, hitting the wood chair back heavily and crossing one leg over her other. He considered her with kindly old eyes. “I’ve been in this business a long time. You should have your mind on tomorrow’s run, not this nonsense. It’ll wind up with you killed if you’re not careful.” Furan heaved a sigh and then shook her head. The job in the morning was going to be a difficult run, but not unlike anything else they had done over the years. There was nothing particularly spectacular about smuggling lyrium through the Jader customs authority. She had far more exciting things to think about, and she wanted him to think about them too. She was not done yet. She leaned forward with a soft little stare.

“Alright, look, salroka. Ways I see it, the rumors would never have spread so far if there wasn’t something to them. That means that there’s something down there, and if you don’t seize that chance now, you’re never going to get it again.” She had a feeling about this one. This time it was going to be something. Stories like this…they didn’t just spring up out of nowhere. They had a source. This had a source. This was real. The information was good. She just had to convince Enrik of it.

He stroked his beard down his chest with his hand lightly, and then shook his head.

“You’d believe anything a nug’s mother told you, Brosca,” he said with a grim face. “You have no proof. You can talk all you like, but without the proof, that’s an investment I just can’t help you with. You keep your head down, you rough up the right people, and you transport the blue where the bosses tell you to take it, and you leave this…sodding Deep Roads crap to the Deep Lords. We have a good life up here. I’m not going down to fight darkspawn and winding up Blighted when I can spend the rest of my life getting paid by the Carta bosses to just do my sodding job.” He brought the tankard to his lips, drinking down a deep swallow of the stuff and then giving a heavy sigh. “Trust me on this one, girl, it isn’t worth it.” Furan stared him down, then let her leg fall to the ground, and leaned forward.

“You call this good, salroka?” she asked, dropping her voice lower so she would not be overheard. “You call any of this good? Chantry’s been cracking down hard with the mages stirring. It gets more dangerous to do a run every sodding day.” She shook her head. “I’m better than this. So are you. I don’t wanna spend the rest of my days hauling blue for these bastards until one of them gets it into their head to shoot me with a crossbow through the eyes. I have stuff I wanna do, things I wanna see. This isn’t enough.” Enrik sighed, leaning back in his chair, refusing to bring the confrontation to her.

“You’re young, Furan. You think the world is an easy thing. It’s not. Adventure isn’t good. People don’t go into the Deep Roads and discover things. They go into the Deep Roads and they die of the Blight. You think it’s all fun and games now, but it isn’t, Brosca. If this is what you want, you’re on your own. I’m not going to go die because you couldn’t keep your head down.” That. That she had heard before. 

_Keep your head down, Brosca. Don’t cause trouble, Brosca. Do what you’re told, and smuggle this lyrium into that port, Brosca. Don’t get caught, Brosca._ She shook her head.

“Fine,” she said softly. “Fine, you stay here. But I’m not giving up on this one, salroka. It’s a real thing. Ways I see it, my chance is quickly drying up. If you won’t help me, I’ll do it all myself.” She shoved the chair back and stood up, fingers brushing over the smooth wood grain of the table as she turned away. Enrik watched her with sad, knowing eyes, a look that hit her haunting in the way it spoke of being in that situation before. He simply shook his head at her as she gathered up her drink and drew back from his table. 

“You make that job tomorrow,” he told her softly. “Get some sleep tonight, Brosca. You’ll want to be top game when the time comes, or they’ll hound you out for every last bit you blow.” His voice hit her retreating back and she paused a moment, then waved him off before moving back across the chamber and giving herself the room to think. To dream.

It was about more than just adventure. Of course part of her wanted the excitement. She had never seen the Deep Roads before. She’d never even seen Orzammar. But there were ways in, she knew. Her father had been from Orzammar, a casteless dwarf who came topside to make something of himself. Instead he had wound up deep in debt, trafficking lyrium for the Carta to pay it off, and when he had died, she had assumed those debts. Now she was caught up in the business too.

Smuggling was a violent business. There were too many ways for it to go wrong. It wasn’t enough for her to just shoot to kill anyone who might catch them. Lyrium was dangerous, and smugglers didn’t care where that lyrium ended up either. She was better than that. She just needed one chance, one break, to cut ties with the Carta for good and pay off the last of those debts. Then she could start again, somewhere new, and make something of her life. 

Carta bruisers ended up so often dead in ditches.

That’s what had happened to her father after all.

Not her. She wasn’t going to be a Duster all her life. She was going to be something more, something greater. She just had to find a way to work out this expedition. 

She slid into a seat before the hearth that was glowing bright and merry nearby, staring into the flames with a sullen expression. She sat and sulked for a moment, trying to work out what her next step might be as she studied the flames. She could maybe speak to Malika Cadash up out of Redcliffe-way, or have a word with one of their contacts out of the Merchant’s Guild in Denerim or Val Royeaux. None of those were going to move fast, though, and she needed to move fast. It was no lie. The longer she took the more the chance slipped away. She needed to move now, even if it meant moving alone somehow, and damn the costs.

In truth, it was not much of a plan. Even if she could find out enough about it to get an expedition started, there was no chance of a payoff immediately, and those debts hanging over her head were not going anywhere. The moment she disappeared, her name would immediately be added to the Carta hit lists, a liability, an agent gone rogue. She was no one important. They didn’t need her. That made her trouble if she stopped doing what was told.

But if she didn’t take the chance, she was never going to work her way out of the pit the Carta stuck you in. The Carta was bad news all around. She had not lied to Enrik. She _was_ better than the Carta. If they had their way, she would work her ass off at dangerous business until she returned to the sodding Stone and then they would transfer the debts all over again. She was never going to be free.

She knew how this worked. She had seen it with her father. She wanted out of that cycle, out of that shit. Enrik was wrong. This was not a good life. This was hardly a life at all. Tomorrow’s job was easy enough, but it could still be the death of her. Every job _was_ dangerous. She needed out before her luck ran out instead.

Without a lead, she was stuck. What she had heard was merely whispered rumors that had carried. Someone spoke of a Legion being lost under Amaranthine. Another spoke of Deep Roads disappearing under the eastern edges of Ferelden. She knew the old rumors: the ancient kingdoms lost in the First Blight held technology and treasures one could barely even dream up for trying. The Darkspawn had taken the thaigs, but with the aftermath of the Blight, there was a chance to steal some of those Deep Roads back before they were resettled again. What use did the Darkspawn have for gold, for treasures? What use did the Darkspawn have for old knowledge long since lost. 

None. But people on the surface would pay a hefty price, and if she found herself a lyrium vein…she could pay the Carta off tenfold if she had to.

The story was just rumor though, and rumor carried. But so to was the Anvil of the Void, and that had turned out to be true. The stories of old golems were true as well. Thedas was full of truth that hid behind fantastic facades, like Orlesians behind their pretty masks. She just needed to know more. It was not hard to believe, in the light of all that had happened in recent years, that perhaps this too was the truth.

Money was a problem of course too, but if she could convince someone else of it, if she could find the right buyers for the information, or people willing to go without payment until they stumbled upon something good, funding could cover itself. It was a plan at least. Something. 

Furan Brosca had never been much good at plans.

“You have the look of someone who is doing a significant amount of thinking.” 

She looked up sharply at the voice. It was an elven man, tall – everyone was tall to Furan – and with archer’s arms, and a pair of damn fine shoulders. He had those markings on his face that pointed him out as one of the nature types out in the wilderness instead of living in the city in a house. Eyes of a soft summer green settled on her, catching her deep dark brown, and she felt the weight of his unexpectedly deep voice settle through her. Her eyes narrowed.

“What’s it to you, elf?” 

Strangers in taverns rarely meant good news. They were rough around the edges, difficult to predict. Half of them wanted to cut your throat or rob you blind. The other half were in trouble and wanting help she could not provide. She watched as he sank into a seat and helped himself to a sip of her beer.

“I overheard you talking. You’re thinking of going after the old kingdoms, aren’t you?” His voice was lower now. She narrowed her eyes towards him, her hand sliding towards her knife just in case. He quirked a little smile, catching the motion, and shaking his head. “Don’t mean anything by it. It’s just…I might know a guy. Well…a girl.” 

“Alright…” She gave him a considering look through the loose fringe of her brown, frizzy hair. “Tell me more, salroka, and we’ll see if we can do business.” He had a few deep scores down his right cheek, clawed by something nasty. His clothes were a ragtag ensemble of Orlesian scouting armor and elf tunics. He settled himself more easily into the seat, and then had another sip of her beer. 

“I know the source of these stories,” he said simply. “Easy as that. And if you let me in on the action, give me a fair cut…I’ll take you to her.” The source itself? A woman he knew? She was not sure she believed that for a moment, but the deep honey of his voice sent her into a state of ease. Everything in her warned her not to speak, not to trust him. But she gave a sigh, then leaned back onto the opposite arm of the chair, studying him a moment as he drank his way through her beer.

“And just how do I know you’re telling the truth?” He shot her a grin then, a charming sort of thing that probably slayed demons itself. 

“Because I,” he said simply, with an air of competence and grandeur she was sure he had not ever earned, “am Gael Sabrae.”

“Who?” His face fell. It was obvious she was meant to know his name. He rolled his eyes, leaning towards her. 

“Gael Sabrae? The treasure hunter?” She looked him over, then shook her head.

“You don’t look like a treasure hunter, salroka. You look like a man on hard times.” He winced, but shot her a grin at that, finishing off her drink.

“Same could be said for you, but you’re hunting treasure, aren’t you? There’s little other reason to be wanting to disappear into the Deep Roads unless you’re one of their nobles all hung up on the lost honor of the great ancestors.” His voice took on a mocking tone. She snorted, shaking her head.

“I don’t exist to them. But if I find something, I exist to everyone else. That’s the part that matters.” People couldn’t make you disappear if everyone knew you existed. He gave a little wink.

“Tell you what,” he said simply, pushing himself up to look down at her. “You change your mind and decide you’re interested, you can find me up the road at the Ciriane Queen.” She narrowed her gaze. “You have a week. I won’t stick around longer. More than that, and we miss out on the treasure.” Furan drew a slow breath, then he gave her a small little nod in farewell before peeling away to mingle with a serving maid who was sent almost immediately into a fit of giggles. 

Furan filed the information away. For now, perhaps, she would consider it. In the depths of the tavern, she saw Enrik’s seat now vacant, and heaved a sigh. 

She would think on it at least, see if he had heard of this treasure hunter, and then make up her mind. In the meantime, she still had a job to do.

She pushed herself up, with a final glance to the barmaid and Gael Sabrae, before stalking out across the wood floor and disappearing into the night.


	2. MISANTHROPE 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aldrin Thorne finds himself an accidental apostate after an attempt to acquire research material goes awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Violence
> 
> Comments always welcome! ~HR  
> For more about the Edges characters, check out my [Tumblr](https://higheverrains.tumblr.com).

“When I agreed to come on this mission, you assured me – assured me, Knight-Lieutenant! – that I would not be involved in anything suspect! I was under the impression that you had a _legitimate_ source!” No, no, no. This just would not do. All of it was wrong. All of it.

He should have known better than to trust the word of a Templar. When he had mentioned, in passing, to a colleague that what he truly needed in order to get his research to a level that would demand additional resources from the College of Enchanters was access to more lyrium, he had thought that the man might have suggested an actual way to achieve that without crossing lines and getting himself made Tranquil in the process. He had assumed, foolish as he apparently was, that such a thing would not be so bloody difficult with the cooperation of Templars, who had access to it in droves. But no. What had begun as a simple bribe to allow him to accompany Knight-Lieutenant Grimmald to Jader for what he had been assured was a routine pick-up was now apparently the heart of a smuggling operation.

“Do you know, Ser, what they do to mages involved in smuggling lyrium?” he demanded, arms crossed. “Do you?” 

Knight-Lieutenant Grimmald leveled a flat stare his way, and Aldrin pursed his lips. What an unfriendly look!

“Might have an idea,” the Templar growled. “Push your luck, and we’ll find out.”

“I will take this to the Revered Mother!” Aldrin said fiercely. “When she learns - !” His thought was not completed. He found himself shoved back, pinned to the wall of the warehouse and squirming under the gauntleted hand of the Templar staring him down with a ferocious look.

“Listen here, robes. You won’t take this to anyone. You came to me asking for a cut. You’ll get your damn cut. But if you sell me out, I swear on the Maker’s golden throne I will tear you apart. Are we clear?” 

“Get your hands off me, Ser! This is most unorthodox!” The Templar let him go, reaching to pinch the bridge of his nose, and Aldrin pushed himself up from the wall with a scowl, adjusting his robes and making sure he was tidy again. “I am a Senior Enchanter,” he said. “I will not be treated as a child! I did not realize the help you so kindly bestowed upon me meant breaking the law!” 

“Well, now you do,” Knight-Lieutenant Grimmald said. “When the shipment arrives, you will keep your mouth shut, and just stay out of the way. I’ll see you get yours.” 

“I’ve paid for it! You had better!” Aldrin sniffed. No, it would not do _at_ all. Such a thing! Maker’s breath, Templars were so…so….

Frustrating. 

He huffed a sigh and then glanced over towards the far side of the warehouse where a few other Templars were in a deep discussion with a couple dwarves. Carta. Obviously.

“If I had known,” he said archly, “that none of this was within the confines of the law, I would never have asked. I certainly would never have told my associates back at the Circle to be expecting an shipment of lyrium for our research, either! How could possibly use this!” he demanded. 

At his words, the Knight-Lieutenant looked up sharply, his eyes wide and wary.

“You did _what_?” he said, voice dangerous. He closed the distance between them again. Aldrin took a step backwards and glared him down. Grimmald’s look was…oh dear, frightened? No, that would be…well… “Did you tell anyone that was where you were going: to pick up this shipment?”

“Well, I hardly think - !”

“Did you tell anyone?!” Grimmauld’s gauntlet was back at the front of his robe again, but this time Aldrin did nothing to shove him away.

“Why yes. I did. Two of my colleagues. I was not aware, as you might imagine, I was not meant to.” 

“Shit.” Grimmald tore his hands away, glaring out across the warehouse. “Shit. Shit.”

“Why do you keep saying - ?” 

He didn’t get the rest of the words out. There was a sharp cry from out at the front, and then a door swung open wide.

“Knight-Lieutenant!” Someone screamed, and then Grimmald was reaching for his sword. Aldrin stared as the dwarves scattered, and then the sound of armor and troops outside the doors made him panic.

“Grimmald! Knight-Lieutenant! Grimmald! What is happening!?” he cried, clinging to the man, staring about wildly before he was shoved off. “No! What is happening!?”

“Maker’s blood, robes, get into the damn office! Now!” Aldrin did not need telling twice. He darted back, staring about the warehouse before finding himself being shoved further into the office. He looked about, then ducked down low, crawling underneath a table behind an empty crate to hide. There were no other exits. 

Beyond the door were the sounds of a fight, of blades ringing. He listened, eyes wide, horrified at all of this. He had done this, had he? By telling someone. Well, of course, and they had acted upon it. 

That meant he was a criminal already, as were all those there with them. Not that they were not criminals already, of course. Maker’s breath, this whole thing was a horrible awful mess.

All he had wanted was lyrium, a little more lyrium. He was so close, _so close_ to a real breakthrough, to a real understanding of what it was, how it worked, where it came from. There were so many questions, so many things to be answered, and he was so close…

He did not want to be a criminal. Now…now he would be forced out. He was an apostate. He would be branded maleficar and chased to the ends of the world, all because it was vitally important that he just get his hands on a little bit more lyrium. 

His knees were sore, as was his back. He was too old to be bundled up under a desk, too aged to be hiding while outside there were fights. He was a mage, a Senior Enchanter. He could do better. But if they caught him…if it were Templars…

The door flung open and Aldrin flinched, but it was not Templars that entered. Instead, a pair of Carta dwarves bundled inside, slamming the door shut. One pressed himself flat against it. The other, a woman, wheeled on him.

“I _told_ you, salroka, and here we are! We’re gonna die for this sod, just like you sodding well wanted, right?!” she spat, venom sharp in her voice. Aldrin shifted, then gave a low hiss as he bonked his head at the bottom of the table, and the dwarves whirled at the sound as the table shifted, scraping across the floor. The woman tore her axe from her side, brandishing it at Aldrin. As she saw who it was, a sneer cut across her face.

“Ah, sod, it’s just a mage.”

“Leave him, Brosca. We have to get back?” 

“Get back?” The woman shook her head, pointing with the axe. “Enrik, they’re dead. We will be too. We gotta get the sod outta here!” 

“I…I can help!” Aldrin said sharply, ducking from under the table and brushing himself off. He flinched as something hit the door and it shuddered, but the dwarf holding it shut did not shift. “I…can take out a wall. If you can guarantee me safe passage – “

“Safe? Sod….just do it.” The woman declared, motioning to the wall.

“I…yes. Yes of course.” He stared at the wall a moment, then reached for magic, making sure to be careful since he had no idea what was on the other side. It swelled up, fierce and strong, destructive force that thrust outward, and the wall shuddered, then thrust outward, cracking and splitting with an incredible bang. The dwarves tore their gaze away, hiding their faces from the debris that rained down. A barrier prevented any from actually hitting them though, as Aldrin hurried to make sure that was dealt with. Always be tidy with one’s spells. He glanced back, and then the dwarves considered the hole, then the woman reached to yank Aldrin through the hole.

“Enrik, let’s go!” she cried. There was another shudder at the door. The dwarf stared, wide-eyed. “Enrik!” The older man shook his head, still bracing the door.

“Run, salroka. You get out. Do what you said you would. You were right…but this is my life, and this my end. You live for both of us, yes?” She stared, and Aldrin yanked on her arm instead. 

“No, no time!” he cried as the door buckled a little, and the older dwarf grunted, still trying to hold it, and then he was running, dragging the woman with him, her black tattoos on her face contorted with anger and despair. 

There was nothing for it but to run then. Maker’s blood, he was a fugitive. This was not a good day. All this, all this…just for some lyrium, for a bit more knowledge. 

Knowledge was worth any cost, he knew that, but this…He gritted his teeth and hurried along.

The dwarven woman shoved him to the side down the nearest alley, ducking past him and beckoning for him to follow her.

“Keep up or die, mage,” she hissed, then crept along the alleyway. Beyond there was the sound of armor clanking along the cobblestones, Chantry-sent Templars, not Aldrin’s colleagues, there to crack down on the lyrium smugglers.

“Are you taking me to the Carta?” he asked her in a low voice, crouching along beside her and pressing himself back into the shadows, making a face at the grime along the wall that was absolutely now on his robes.

“Sod, no!” she gave him a look. “No! I can’t go back there. They’ll kill me for this.” Aldrin stared, then bit his lip, despairing. Not the lyrium smugglers, then was she taking him to the Chantry. “Then where are we going?”

“Away from this damn place,” she replied, her brows furrowed. “Somewhere safe. Safer at least.” And then she slid to the end of the alley, checking before darting across towards the next one and the shelter of more shadows. 

The two of them were an obvious pair. That much was apparent. She was wearing Carta armor, and painfully obvious in terms of height there in Jader. And he was there in mages’ robes for Maker’s sake. There was no way to hide for long. Their only chance was to get as far from the warehouse as possible, to avoid being caught until they could find something better, something…well…anything more. 

This had just meant to be an acquisition, necessary supplies for his research into lyrium and the Deep Roads, and now…? 

Well now he was hunted by the Chantry, and if he was caught, he would be lucky not to be killed on sight. At least if he was Tranquil, he might continue his work, but with news he was involved in lyrium smuggling.

_Damn fool, Aldrin._

The dwarf at his side gave a sigh. 

“Come on,” she said, nudging him forward. “Keep up, or die.” That was not comforting. 

He did not have much room for discussion as she led him through the streets though, and it became quickly apparent she knew how to navigate them, either because she had been there awhile, or because she was regularly prepared to run. He wondered what that man had meant, that she should go, should run. He had not really considered the motivations of Carta smugglers before, but since his life depended on this one, it certainly mattered right at this moment. 

“What did that man mean?” he finally asked as she led him along, gaze darting down each street and choosing the ones that gave them cover. “Do what you said you would? Where are we going?” She sighed, then paused, jamming him back into an alleyway and crossing her arms to stare at him.

“You’re done, you know that, yes?” she said. He scowled. How rude! 

“I am not done – ”

“Your Circle gonna take you back then, salroka?” she replied, raising her eyebrows. Pretty brown eyes fixed on his, a similar color, all said and done. 

“Well, I…”

“No. The answer is no,” she said simply. “Look, you can stick with me, or you can try on your own. I don’t care. But you keep your nose out of my business, got it? I’m just trying to keep us alive.” She was shaking. The man from before had clearly been important to her. He studied the angle of her tattoos, the swirling ‘s’ shape on her cheek, and the scrollwork over her forehead beneath soft, frizzy brown hair. She gave a slow growl, then peered back down the street and then darting out again. She reached to pull her hood up over her hair and about her face as she walked, a little bit of cover. 

“We are going to the tavern,” she announced simply.

“The…Maker’s blood, the tavern?!” 

“There’s a man there,” she told him, her voice low. “He’ll help me. I know it. It’s where we will find him.” Incredulous, Aldrin just stared.

“Will he help me?”

“That depends,” she said, but gave no other answer than that. Reassuring. “Furan. My name is Furan,” she added. “Furan Brosca.” Her gaze slide sidelong to him. “And you are?”

“Oh…um…Senior Enchanter Aldrin Thorne, formerly of the Circle at Ansburg, most recently of the Circle at Jainen.” 

“Stone-met, or whatever the sod they say downstairs,” the Carta thug replied flatly, and then led him around the next corner, checking the street signs. 

Eventually she found what she was looking for. She considered the swinging side over the door, considering it carefully with a scowl. And then she let out a heavy sigh. Aldrin read the sign.

“The Cirianne Queen?” he asked. “Who is this friend of yours.”

“Wait and see,” the dwarf told him. “Why were you trying to buy blue.” Blue? What did she – oh. Lyrium. He drew a breath.

“I study it. I study the Deep Roads, and lyrium, and the inherent properties involved in the fundamental components of magic.” She gave him a blank look.

“So…you’re…a Deep Roads expert?” she asked with a raised brow. 

“Not…exactly.”

“But you know them?” she prodded, determined. He was not certain why she cared, but eventually he gave a sigh.

“I know of them. Stories. I’ve studied what maps I could, which were certainly not complete, and I have nothing like what the Shaperate – ”

“Good enough,” she said, cutting him off short. Good enough? Good enough for what? He was just about to ask when she pushed the door inward into the tavern and then peered inside before slipping in. He had no choice but to follow then, or else wind up entirely lose. 

“Excuse me, good enough for what?” he demanded, but she held up a hand, and then made her way through the tavern to the bar counter. The man behind braced his hands against the wood to drink them in, and then gave a low scowl.

“Yes? What?” 

“I hear,” Furan said simply, “this is the place where I might find Gael Sabrae.”

“Depends whose looking.” She quirked a small smile.

“Tell him the name is Furan, and I’ve considered his


End file.
